“I thought...” My grip dents the cardboard. “I mean, this morning, when I—”
“Koby.” Her cheeks glow pink even as she smiles through the fresh tears dampening her eyelashes. “It’s not you. I just had a bad day.” She pats the space beside her. “Story time?”
Hope blooms like wildfire under my ribs. She still wants me here. I cross the room, setting the box at the foot of the bed before taking a seat beside her, my back to the headboard.
“I’m all ears, hellcat.”
She doesn’t speak right away, and I don’t rush her. I’ve imagined a multitude of scenarios, and whatever she’s about to confess will gut me like a fish, I’m sure, and be extremely hard for her to voice.
She hugs her knees tighter, rests her chin in the hollow between them, and breathes in. “I spent almost three years with Anton,” she whispers. “Losing myself piece by little piece. Fading away until I felt like a distant memory. He took everything. My personality, my thoughts, my words... There were days, weeks sometimes, when I didn’t even know my name.”
This isn’t how I imagined this would go. I expected a clear answer to my burning question:what the fuck did he do?
But I don’t think it’s as simple ashe raped me, or he beat me. Her opening words already tell me that whatever she went through can’t be blurted out in one sentence.
“It felt like quicksand. You tell yourself if you stay still, maybe you won’t sink... but I sank. Fast. Faster than I thought possible.”
The first tear falls from her eye, sliding down her cheek, but her tone remains flat, dejected, like she’s reading a script. The emotional contrast is startling. Unsettling even.
“He didn’t take me to use me. He took me to... keep me. Play with me.” Her lips pinch into a thin line as she swats her tears away. “He was so calm. So soft. Every word a lullaby. Praise, encouragements, gentle corrections.”
My fists curl in my lap. She’s talking, opening up, but the picture I’ve been dying to see is still kaleidoscopic. I don’t understand what happened.
I’m itching to take her hand, ask questions, pull her into my arms and help the words flow easier, but I’m afraid to make the wrong move, so I don’t do anything at all.
“You’re such a perfect little girl,” she whispers. “So pretty. Stay still for me. Good little girls don’t pout. Breakfast time, sweet girl. Open wide. No pouting, sweetheart.”
Her eyes are closed now, arms wrapped around herself like she has to hold her body in place while her mind is dragged back. She recites in a soft voice, every next word sending shivers down my spine. I’m unraveling as things become clearer.
“Is my pretty little thing having a tantrum? You need a nap. Don’t touch that, petal. Sit, petal. Smile, petal. Chew, petal.” She inhales a shaky breath. “He bathed me, dressed me in pastel, frilly dresses, cut my food into bite-size pieces, and fed me while I sat in his lap. He did my hair, read children’s books to me every night...”Her voice wobbles and she takes a pause.
I want to reach for her. Every instinct screams to drag her against me, to hold her through this, but I don’t know if that’ll make things worse. I don’t know what she needs from me.
“I wasn’t allowed to do anything by myself,” she continues. “No frowning, no pouting, no smiling too wide. He liked me quiet, obedient. No opinions. No thoughts... he stripped away every part of me until there was nothing but a hollow shell. A glassy-eyed doll he arranged just the way he liked.”
I stare at her... at this girl who throws punches, shatters cups, swears, teases, laughs. Who eats with her fingers, dances around my kitchen in the mornings, and bosses me around in my own goddamn house, and I try to reconcile that with what she’s saying.
“And tomorrow...” Her voice shudders. “Tomorrow, I have to do it again. Sit still. Dress up. Be soft. Be silent. Be what he wants, so he won’t realize I’m not where I’m supposed to be. That I’m fighting not to be who he saysI’m supposed to be. Who he trained me to be.”
“Leilani... fuck. I—”
“Don’t,” she pleads, eyes cutting to mine. “Please don’t say anything.”
Obeying takes everything I have, and giving her space takes everything again and then some, but the moment I start to rise, her warm fingers catch my wrist.
“Stay with me?” she whispers, speeding my heart into cardiac arrest territory. “Just until I fall asleep?”
God, if only she knew how much this means to me. How much I crave staying with her forever. How much I’d give for a chance to watch her fall asleep every night.
I ease back against the pillows, pull the comforter up, and watch her slip beneath it. She flips onto her side as I tuck the blanket around her. I want to hold her, curl her into my chest,weave my fingers through her long, dark hair, and protect her from the whole world.
Watching her will have to be enough. She asked me to stay. If she wanted more, if she wanted my arms around her, she’d ask for that as well.
How is she so calm? How is she not spiraling?
I turn Anton’s name over and over in my head, imagining the most elaborate ways to make him suffer. I could break his bones. Pull his teeth. Shred his veins piece by fucking piece.
“I can hear you thinking.” Leilani pulls herself up on one elbow, her eyes shining in the low light. “Can you hold me?”
